"unlivable" poems
The Knitting Needles Museum
has a prudish name
that frightens the schoolchildren
and obscures the oppression
of desperate and ***** women
The torture museum
and the war museum also
lack the inspiration
from a muse
They are monuments
and should be called that
With the unbuilt museums
of destroyed art and
ancient cultures, they can
fill a street in any city
'Ecce homo', behold man
the noble beast, the master
of things and nothings -
virtual and vanished
worlds that are unlivable
Jan 4, 2023
Jan 4, 2023 at 4:04 AM UTC
Finding you is like loss my phone
Crazy, miserable and unlivable
Missing you is like trying to get you out of my head
Hard, hurt and pain
Seeing you is like saw a rainbow in a sky
Happy, love and excited
Talking to you is like hearing a song
Melodious, tuneful and sirenic
Touching you is like holding a feather
Soft, warm and cold
Loving you is like addicted to drug
Addicted, loss and non-stop.
(m.i)
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
Let me ask you a few dangerous questions.
1. when did wisdom magically become a weapon?
2. Can you turn the other cheek?
3. Can you turn lead into gold?
Because I can't.
See some of us reside in an unlivable temple
scraping by on ok, hog tied to the flawed words "I'm fine" and find comfort, knowing the only way to truly find contentment is to find a tribe of people willing to be unicorns and butterflies with you.
See we kid ourselves with the belief "they will save me", But we don't live in a house with a glass ceiling so we can see God or a sky that is easily taking apart.
sometimes I wonder, did I wake up today to another state of sleep ain't that easier to swallow than reality, ain't the best fight with yourself.
There I go again chewing on doubt as if it were gum.
Thinking of my mind as part incredible part trash and mostly dead
See what I meant to say is your mind is not something you can just escape from it is something you survive.
So I will continue to wear the sun like the air wears sage in the winter,
because after all ain't the best scent in a dream.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
How many parts? Transient…
Tearing apart? Permanent…
An angry one. Powerless…
It’s never done. Sorrowless…
The battle rages. Survival…
Till one prevails. Revival…
Is there a third? Unaware…
Has it been heard? Everywhere…
Forces at play. Unresolved…
Hear what they say. Unabsolved…
Fight for your soul. Unlivable…
Your self-control. Forgivable.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:09 PM UTC
she boiled my blood inside a *** of steel,
with bread she cooked it thoroughly till foam,
had covered all, unseeable, unfeel-
-ing, vengeance wrathful, hardened to a loam,
where blood is life, she caused the life to be,
unlivable, no more a life to me
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 2:51 PM UTC
The turn of a lip, the rise of the cheeks, that smallest action that makes my heart skip a beat.
Often they come with the cheapest of prices, even produce through electronic devices.
Other times, not even all the money in the world could entice one.
They are made for love, made for laughs, made for fond memories flooding back from my past.
Unrestricted in pleasure, forced in times of pain, there is not much better, then kissing one in the rain.
Some say they are small, some say they are trivial, but to me not getting them in life....unlivable.
Starting of excitement, cleanse away anger, the best thing to see when you first meet a stranger.
I'm speaking of giving one to many, but only really to one of a few, she may not know, but this is for you!
A smile costs nothing....yet they will change your day...
So, Smile.......smile away!!
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Sixteenth of September,
six days after my sister was born
was the first time I remember it happening.
Body in my bed, I knew that was strange—
I had always slept alone—
but I didn’t know if it was wrong.
In school the next day
I looked around at all the girls,
I wanted to ask if this was normal.
I was twelve and I could not be sure
my body belonged to me.
I read horror stories,
compared myself to them and said,
you have faced a fraction of the full range.
I said, you were complicit,
he never told you to be silent.
I am seventeen still reading
article after article and I think:
my father is not evil,
my father does not deserve to be behind bars—
who will feed my family?—
but I think I would feel safer if he was.
I think about one night
when he asked, “ does it feel good”
and I felt myself disintegrate.
I am not sure he heard what I heard:
does it feel good when I am making your body,
in which you will stand
for the rest of your life, unlivable?
Does it feel good when I am desecrating it,
when I make it unholy ground?
At the trial of our sins I will ask
God what my body is, and He will say
“it is a trust” and I will point to you and say
“then he has broken it.”
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
Is life nothing more
than a series of moments
strung together
like a poorly crafted
beaded bracelet,
the flimsy string base
nearly broken
under the weight
of the hand-woven design?
Or is the design not even
of our own creating,
fitted and shoved together
by someone else,
our will and drive
bent
to fall in line,
in pattern
with what we are
supposed to do?
I've been here for a lifetime,
or at least a quarter of one,
but the glue that
keeps me together,
it feels sealed,
stuck together
under the command
of something or someone else,
some entity that is not myself.
Day after day
feet following
in military style march,
left right left,
pumps beating hard
on the pavement
running, propelling me forward.
My robotic heart
pumps lead,
tongue tastes metallic
as it formulates
the expected utterances
for the ambitious woman.
Yes sir, yes ma'am,
achievements regurgitated
at pairs of ears
who listen merely
at how formulated,
premeditated phrases
may prove themselves worthy.
I aim no higher
than Mount Everest,
spitting my list
of captivating factors,
of perfected musings
of this unlivable habitat
I am to call life,
when all I truly yearn to do
is scream out
the loudest yelp,
that, no,
this isn't all that fascinating,
and, yes,
I would rather
pucker my
dried, worn out lips
around a cold glass
and inhale some
clarity and serenity.
Is a life that's driven,
that's focused,
that's ****** hollow,
its meat devoured by ambition,
is that a life that's lived,
or have I given
everything
away?
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
[Lyric re-write: The Times they are a Changin’, by Bob Dylan]
Come gather ‘round, voters
Wherever’s your Poll?
And admit rising waters
Around you now flow
And accept it is sooner
Than science had shown
It’s ah crime the earth we’re not savin’
Get propeller power whirlin’
Charge yer lights with the sun
For the Climate is ah Changin’
Come haters and cynics
Who Twitter and spin
Better open yer eyes
For the Glaciers are thin
Our POTUS hates science
Wants it all about him
No compassion for another
He’s a gamblin’ we’re losers
And payin’ his bills
While the Climate is ah Changin’
Come Senator McConnell
Stop blockin’ the Bills
Don’t stand in our way
As the ice melts and spills
Our earth is ah hurtin’
While you don’t heed calls
The storm outside is ah ragin’
And soon for our children
No future at all
For the Climate is a Changin’
Come sisters and brothers
We must make a stand
And all realize
What is now in our hands
For if we do nothin’
They’ll ravish the land
Unlivable for the ages
Inaction and tarry
Is all they have planned
While the Climate is ah Changin’
The time has now come
The dye, it is cast
If we slow down
It’ll soon come to pass
Our chances are fadin’
The present, our last
Leavin’ life no safe haven
So what we don’t need
Is coal, oil, or gas
Cuz the Climate is a Changin’
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
Docile and tame,
A king slain by his own sword
Self inflicted pain
My shelf life would be considered inhumane
A body originally set to be a temple
Is now unlivable domain
©2024
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 1:07 PM UTC
Words left unspoken
Pain left unbearable
Time that's irretrievable
A life that's unlivable
Where words were left unspoken, time continuously creped away becoming yet a memory.
The pain makes life unlivable.
The knife that cut her skin left scars - still a constant reminder of the pain unbearable.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
I wait for you on a cold winters night
My breath visible in the stillness
But patiently I wait for your warmth
Your smile... Your touch... I want...
Each piece a part of a special puzzle
That enraptures and fills me with delight
In the shadows I see you approach
I want to rush over to you and embrace
But this one single moment I wont encroach
My heart begins to race my breath more visible
To hold you in my arms this moment unlivable
I wait.... You smile.... as you draw closer.....
I cherish this special moment within my reach
Sapphire eyes and crimson lips in moonlight
I trace my fingers down your face.... so beautiful
My body shakes with just one touch.... precious delight
Savoured.... Cherished.... special moments adorned
Before the kiss on your crimson lips a new love is born
David Swinden©
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 6:17 AM UTC
Lonely
Walking down the street
she quivers
shivers running down her spine.
She feels
Lonely
Stressed
About her new life
and yet she has
faced this before
had to face drastic
changes
in her life.
But she walks along.
Her sighs sounding
Stressed
Morning
Will soon rise.
But the difference
between today
and the rest,
is her Mother’s soft kiss
gently on her cheek,
it won’t be there to wake her.
Oh the
Mourning
Oh the Mourning
the Mourning
she endures
everyday without her
ever since she was taken
from her.
Oh how she misses her Mother.
Oh the Mourning
But she walks on
to her new home
even though
she knows not
where
she goes.
And she walks on.
Tears
streaming down her face
as she walks on
stressed
lonely
oh the mourning
morning
A new morning rises
A new start to the day
and yet the same old
tear streaks
mask her face
she wipes them
and moves on
as always
But this new day
had something
Different
Something Horrible
yet another powerful
blow to her
A New Mother
But not a Mother
it was
Different
Something Horrid
to make her
life worse
not just worse
But Now Unlivable
Oh the Mourning
How she wanted to
Die.
To join her
late Mother
To leave this
cursed world
Into the arms
Of her Angel
Years and Years
of suffering
occured
because of
the Fake Mother
But one day
A ray Shined
unto her.
Someone to share
her life with
Someone to share
a need to live with
Oh how she loved
Him.
Oh how he loved
Her.
Oh the mourning
the mourning that
continued in her heart
The two joined
each other
hand in hand
they walk on
move on
as always
But then
They Meet.
Two unknowns
Two random lives
Suddenly entwine
Suddenly Collide
Suddenly Fix
together
all because
Romeo worked
up the courage
all to say
“Hello”
“Hello”
like ever friendship
starts
But this was no friendship
this was
togetherness
support
dependability
trust
hope
companionship
Love
Romeo loved her
But she felt differently
She already had Him
And He came before Romeo
But Romeo didn’t care
He just wanted her
happy
He just wanted her
to feel loved
He just wanted her
His best friend
But their adventure
continues
Her’s and Romeo’s
for they are
Forever Best Friends
As it was meant to be.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
Scribbling the thoughts away again
Finding the perfect combination
Of symbolisms and phrases
To create the perfect illustration
Something to represent
With conciseness and ambiguity
The earth shattering well of emotions
Which you made me go through daily
From too good to be true
Till unlivable complications
I've compared you to pixie dust
Dragon's breath and volcanic eruptions
I've likened what we had to
Child like wonder, make believe, bright eyes
Bed time stories, the attic ghost
Rainbows, unicorns and stormy skies
I kept writing
To preserve what once was perfect
And to release what I can no longer carry
Something which we failed to protect
I've told exactly what happened
In a way that only you would know
I've written so many similar lines
Titled differently just for show
I've promised to stop
To stop writing for you
Yet here I am again
Without anything else to do
With stanzas you'll never read
And proses you'll never hear from me
No more stories, just plain words
Plain final words I hope, no more fantasies
I loved you, I might still do
But what used to be in is almost out
I'm tired, exhausted really, and I've had enough
I loved you, finally my ink is running out
The page filled up with scribbles
Full but empty at the same time
When ink no longer poured out
And words no longer rhymed
I exhaled, finally breathing again
I ran out of words but I'll keep writing
Writing till I don't know when
It may be unbelievable
But it's long overdue
To say that those future metaphors
Will no longer be for you
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
we think there are aliens in mars
while everyone in earth is an alien
some who are so plain
they curse you with no shame
they hurt you in very mysterious ways
its like you are not worth the pain
we watch aliens **** and evaporate humans
while we eat each others flesh in a way that is so inhuman
we describe anything that is viscous as inhuman
but are humans actually humans......
they can make unlivable anymore
or they can lift your spirits up for a day or two
i think the only aliens we should think about is the human and thats the main.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
The gods beckon you to join the party
But revelry waits in dark corners
The Gardener of Eden is displeased
And now you’re flying without wings
The naked and cunning never feel
Pressure from above
For the rest it’s almost unlivable
Psychic earthquakes blur the love
Will there be sympathy for the serpent
When the future dies?
As Lilith rises in rebellion
Far from normal in his eyes
It feels like liquid diamonds
But it’s Hotel California
A 50-50 shot
A flip of the coin
Music is the foliage of the soul
Imperfect and irreplaceable
Two different unconnected people
Linked in time to one strange vessel
The ants watch the stars
Cause the stars need attention
To shine a little bit brighter
Make night a little bit lighter
Sigh your last breath
Breathe your first sigh
Space is not the final frontier
Soon these lows will become highs
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
*I am the last hand on the earth
To compound and push down
To press the headache as it sounds
And fade it out
Away into the nothingness which awaits its new master
I am standing upside-down
Twisted inside until out
Living in the unlivable town
For I am the last hand on the earth
And as it stands I'm falling down*
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 12:23 AM UTC
We are the human stray dogs,
All we breathe are street smogs,
We roam with slogging legs,
To humans, we are begging ***** pigs!
With excess food, you stand on obesity,
On the dustbins, we stand for charity.
Hunger eats us every second,
As we beg, humans abscond,
World has let us to fall and despond,
Will the so-called God respond?
When we beg at temple premises,
Giving money to us becomes dharma,
When we beg beyond temple premises,
People reply that it is our karma,
When we beg with untorn dress,
Fellow-humans say, “You have money at excess.”
When we beg with torn dress,
Fellow-humans say, “All you possess is madness.”
To the streets we are untouchable,
To the hunger, we are inseparable,
With money, we remained respectable,
Without money, we turned disposable.
Where is god? Where is god?
I searched with hunger very hard,
I discovered, he was none but a useless fraud,
Anger from hunger turned us a hot iron rod.
Life remains unlivable,
Hunger remains miserable,
Humanity is scarce and valuable,
As modern nomads, our houses are portable.
With loans, our farmlands were stolen,
With human treachery, our life was broken,
With menial physical jobs, our body started to weaken.
World remained cruel,
So hunger turned our fuel.
To our hunger,
Reply of wealthy humans was silence,
For a beggar,
It is larger than a bloodshed violence.
As we beg,
Poor humans bowed heads with guilt
Helpless their life,
With disappointments, it was built.
In the world divided into classes,
Many live as beggars in houses,
Many live as beggars in heart,
They were just ***** and smart.
In appearance, we remain a minority,
In the universe, we stand as a majority,
Self-reliant life is our priority,
We don’t want your publicizing charity.
There appeared a revelation,
A day we will steer a revolution!
Idols in the temple decorated with money,
Its time to turn them into bread and honey.
Give us dignified life and food,
We won’t steal,
This is nothing but a peacemaking social deal.
We proclaim!
As hungriness grow,
That make humans bow,
We will ensure; we make
Your money-flowing temple,
Will completely set down to topple,
We will take (steal) money spent for useless stone,
If an individual is left begging hungry-prone!
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
I Need Escape
This place has me trapped
Hate evolved
It's beyond containment
These walls are collapsing
And all evil is being set free
I'm itching
To run away
Get out
Never come back
These minor inconviences
Have become unlivable circumstances
I Will Find A Way Out
I Will Escape This Hell.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
Just another "Good Bye"
by Doyenne Solace Arcanna ShadoeWalker
I am not sure when it all changed from fumbling kisses to polite distance
When there had been fewer tears and more smiles
what if I had been a better hider, a better liar
perhaps you would have stayed ... perhaps
if there had been more joy and less pain
what if I had been a better actor and what if you had cared enough to notice at all
What changed hungry passion to duty and chore
Cold morning meetings with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature
Silent nights .. volumes left unsaid ...silent screams echo ... endlessly
perhaps I should have left ... perhaps
Wasted words and days and nights
such precious time spent in living an unlivable life
how did that which once felt as warm as a hearth fire end up like we were drowning in a tub of grey melting snow
How did "I Love You", turn into "Goodbye"
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
I want to apologize but
Is it right if my eyes size you
And find wary warnings
Of what I dread so?
What I don't know is,
Is it my fault to speak my mind
In time to save it from invention
Of my own dimension of unlivable existence?
I felt not, but tried hard to stop
Sorry from oozing out...
Is it that I felt bad for doubting your part in we
Or your loyalty,
Or your fidelity,
Or your integrity,
Or your respect for me?
Or your honesty,
Or our chemistry,
Or your love for me,
Ultimately?
What goes to say you're truth-ing to me?
Or abusing the youth in me, my naivety?
That manifests in the core of your love.
It's a push and pull of emotions
My trust in you VS the love I have for myself.
I'll continue to contemplate
But the benefit of the doubt is granted
Just don't **** it up.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
it is the greatest irony
that love can **** its devotee
that love can be toxic
and the purest bond
can corrode and turn to acid
when your love becomes irrational
and transcends all known structures
-- is that the dream?
or the nightmare
when you no longer care about yourself
when you let your heart bleed dry
and **** all life away from your fingers, toes, and brain
is that what love is?
that's deranged.
it's unhealthy
it's unlivable
if you see it,
shake the person
slap her repeatedly, hard
wake her up
scream at her
what the **** are you doing?
snap out of it.
this isn't fair to
anyone
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
Dead roses with greying complexion
three stems bent their thorns to flimsy
to ***** a drop of blood posed on dry-rot table top
Sheets of memories in piles of petals turning to dust scattered like Custer's last stand, across sixteen hundred square feet of unlivable space
Lonely walls gawked by empty rooms behind door's locked and hinges rusted shut, echo no slamming laughter
Condemned hallways coloured by black mold spreading out like veiny fingers of black lung bordered corner to corner with ***** spider lace
Shattered windows lay in shards framed by broken smiles darkened by boarded up dreams splintered in night terrors
A wet paint sign flaking to the ground next to a heavy weaved mat with weak tea letters in red saying welcome
Heart stained felt torn to shunder tattered and frayed into clogged
hollow thick chambers
had homemade love
once upon a time.
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 5:47 AM UTC
Two years ago I was in Connecticut in a used book shop. I found very small rare books published as a series of poetry. Red leather- bound, yellowing pages. They crack, those pages, and while this makes me sad if they didn't they wouldn't matter as much. I purchase a few. One of them, "Sonnets from the Portuguese", Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It seemed like the the sort of thing I would buy.
I came back home and I met you and I instantly figured that when you too would leave I would give them to you. I did the worst to you on some day. The other day, you said something to me and I burned for a very long time inside. I might have said something rude in response, but instead I smiled at you. I laughed. You must have burned inside every time I did. I do not care. You might have thought. I laugh at you. You might have thought. I was like that because I thought that They crack, those pages, and while this makes me sad if they didn't they wouldn't matter as much.
I did not give you the book. Two years later, I have a class and I'm writing an essay about the first poem from it. I have been in bed for three days and the sinking feeling returns, I watch videos about how everything in America will crumble. The audience in the videos laugh. My sounds echo and return to me from my room's walls. Where is the sun and the air that might have been as the home I last saw you in. Not yours though. It was thoroughly unlivable for you though sometimes you think Where is the sun and the air that might have been as the home you last saw me in. It is yours though.
On the moments I do step into the essay-- or rather, I step into the poem for the essay-- I hear her speak. And I would read about her husband. He wrote too. They loved for many years. When they lived, her words were far more loved than his. We send each other emails sometimes. You sometimes call me when you're drunk. You burn. My voice. When I call you through my laptop screen I stare at you. I burn. Your hair. What sun, what air. She says
"Guess now who holds thee?"—"Death", I said. But there,
The silver answer rang ... "Not Death, but Love."
She says before she met him her life:
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC